


from here

by youareoldfatherwilliam



Category: Aquaman (2018)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post-Movie, Slice of Life, musings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 05:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19289002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youareoldfatherwilliam/pseuds/youareoldfatherwilliam
Summary: Arthur watches over his kingdom, and does some thinking.





	from here

**Author's Note:**

> I really loved the Aquaman movie, and I know I'm a little late, but I finally decided to write something for it! (after having watched it way more times than is probably healthy). I don't really know what anyone will think of this short scene, but it is mostly self-indulgent, to be honest. 
> 
> About this piece, though: technically, while it is from Arthur's point of view, the voice (phrasing?) is more my own, how I speak. It was a little hard for me to get into his headspace, but, well, I tried my best.
> 
> Work title is from "Where do we go from here?", by Ruelle. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Atlantis is full of life.

On some subconscious level, of course, he thinks he’d always known that. Growing up, Vulko would wax poetic for hours about the sheer beauty of the place; he’d always been eager to listen, even if most of his thoughts were about the owner of long blond hair that he’d only ever seen in a shattered picture frame.

But seeing it for himself, is another story.

He isn’t a very poetic man, but he thinks that human scholars could likely write for years about the place, and never manage to capture everything that it is.

Watching it, though, from the expanse of his new royal room, reminds him of all the responsibilities now thrust upon him.

Here he stands in a glimmering underwater palace, and somehow, by a magic golden trident, he is expected to rule this kingdom; to be fair, to be just; to understand its people and lead them into a new era.

(He thinks that perhaps someone should really have checked his credentials before sticking him on the throne. He’s a _lighthouse keeper’s son_ , for God’s sake).

He’s never been good with people. His childhood had been constantly split; the urge to dive into hidden depths and never look back, at war with the constant pressures of life on the surface. His father had tried to help him, of course; but the old man’s expertise was limited. No one had ever been truly able to understand him; he didn’t understand himself, most of the time. The only creatures that sort of got him were sea-dwelling animals, and it isn’t as though he could hold a conversation with them. He thinks that’s why he’d taken to…well, he’s hesitant to call it _vigilantism_ , but he knows it was a bit of a razor’s edge.

It had given him purpose. Something to do; someone to _be_ ; he’d never been able to hold down a job on the surface for too long, too restless, and he’d liked helping people. Staying on the move, seeing the smiles on people’s faces when they thanked him. It helped him to avoid thinking about himself too hard; thinking about his mother, and Atlantis; not that he’d ever really been one much for self-contemplation, anyways.

Now, he needs to continue helping people, but on a much larger scale; no longer will he be able to slip back into the dark depths when he is finished. It has barely been a month since he was crowned, but the Atlanteans need guidance; thanks to his brother’s ill-fated war, the people are in a disarray. There is fear of the surface, fear of what will happen to the way of life they have preserved for so long. And he knows, that even though they are happy the war is currently averted, they are not fully comfortable with him on the throne yet; trident or not, he is still half human.

It’s ironic, really. Orm, for all his many faults (genocidal-tendencies not included), knows how to rule. Knows how to engage people, how to understand their needs. Granted, he used that to play to his own twisted fantasies, but his brother still understands the pressures of a throne.

It isn’t just the Atlanteans, either. The surface has seen too much, lately, for it to all be swept away under dusty conspiracy theories and old wives’ tales. He is the king, now; it is up to him to make the decision. Should Atlantis come out of hiding? How would that even work? Will he need to establish them as part of the UN?

Okay, the last one’s probably a no, but still.

A glowing turtle drifts by the glass wall that separates his room from the outside, and he presses a hand to the barrier. Even now, at nighttime, Atlantis remains lit; it isn’t as though sunlight penetrates down here, after all. Rather, time is told through the periodic ringing of gongs, throughout the kingdom. It’s a pretty cool system, and reminds him of the stories his father would tell him, how some ancient human civilizations used horns to signify the passing of days long before clocks were invented.

Perhaps there isn’t as much difference between Atlantis and the surface as he’d always thought.

But thinking of his history only reminds him of his present, again. Strangely enough, it isn’t even the actual politics that faze him. Pops had taught him well; he knows the intricacies of political maneuvers and decision-making policies; part of him wonders if the old man had foreseen where he’d one day be (his father is wilier than he lets on). What bothers him is if he’ll be able to do it right; be able to convince people to follow him, to listen to him; his track record of interactions that don’t end with a fight of some sort is dismal, and it isn’t as though the trident magically gave him the ability to get people to consider him.

He thinks back to a long-ago field trip, being shoved against cold aquarium glass; he’s always been better at using force to get his point across.

There is a shuffling noise behind him, and he turns; he can’t help the smile that’s breaking over his face at the sight. In bed, Mera is still fast asleep, but has floated around so that she faces him. Her glorious hair floats around her head, in an untamable crimson cloud. It’s something he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of seeing; the way the water shifts her hair into something ethereal, that he can’t quite describe but could probably spend a lifetime watching.

Seeing her, it reminds him that he isn’t alone. Mera may be from a different kingdom; but by all the governing laws of life under the sea, their kingdoms are allies now. Not to mention that she is…well, he’s not quite sure what they are, yet. They haven’t defined anything, not really, but even though their relationship is still new, he’s all in; he knows that she has his back now, and will support him.

And he knows he has Vulko, and his mother. The crafty old advisor hasn’t been able to stop smiling since his ascension to the throne. Honestly, it’s a little creepy; Vulko’s face when he grins looks like something evil out of a children’s story book- a goblin, maybe? And his mother, as the former-Queen-who-is-technically-still-Queen (Queen Emeritus? He thinks that’s the word, anyways) helps him as best she can; though her time is split, as she spends as much time as possible reuniting with the love of her life.

He’s happy for his parents, really, but he’s in his thirties; shouldn’t he be too old to accidentally walk in on them having sex?

(That image is never leaving his brain; he shudders at the memory).

But the thought of all the people who do support him, who will be with him, helps to centre him. He takes one last look at the beauty of the new world he’s found himself in. He still doesn’t feel ready for this, but he thinks that maybe he’s spent too much of his life running; running from himself, his history, his place. He’s never wanted to be a king, but this is one thing he won’t run from.

He turns from the window and goes back to the bed, slipping as carefully as he can under the covers so that he doesn’t wake Mera; her battle-ready warrior’s instincts are sharper than even his. She doesn’t react though, so he takes her in his arms; presses her against the swirls of black ink that cover his chest.

Maybe he doesn’t feel like a king yet; but he knows that he can get there, and he will.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
